


Reflection

by Elsewhere



Category: Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-09
Updated: 2011-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-14 14:54:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,340
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/150473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elsewhere/pseuds/Elsewhere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the prompt: <i>Noel/Julian, spanking, bottom!Julian please.</i>. Set during the 2008 tour.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reflection

They're backstage after the show, the noise of the fans stamping for more then finally giving up and leaving is only just starting to die down. Nobody can be arsed getting out of costumes that quickly tonight, they're in no real rush to leave and if they go too soon they'll only mow down the crowd lurking at the back gates anyway. Best to leave it so the casuals get bored and wander off, give the die-hards their little thrill in relative privacy.

Dave's giving Mike a piggyback, racing up and down and round the corridors with the camcorder like one of those police car chase documentaries, crashing into people and laughing like headcases just to get out some of the pure energy they all work up through the show. Ending on songs means ending on a high, but there's nowhere to go after that except crazy.

Noel looks far too good in his glamour-nana gear. It's a bit ridiculous. It shouldn't work but something makes it wonderful, the smears of black make-up under his eyes, the sweet little cardigan and the old lady dress teamed with those shiny boots... it's hard not to remember how it had looked in the hotel mirror last night, Noel with his skirt hitched up around his hips and his legs in those boots locked around Julian's waist, demanding it _harder, fucking hell, come on, what are you doing, what's wrong with you, I said HARDER..._

Noel catches his eye and smirks, slow and knowing. Julian looks down hastily. He's still got this loathsome tendency to blush when the right buttons are pushed, as if he never quite made it past twelve years old.

"Hope I didn't put you off there when I smacked you. Did I?"

It wasn't hard, just a quick tap of Noel's hand on Julian's arse as he ran behind him during the crimps. It's his own fault for not wearing pants under those minuscule silver shorts that don't come up high enough, Noel _did_ say if he had to look at Barratt's crack again there'd be consequences, but it was just a joke and it wasn't hard and everything's fine really, they do so much more than that in front of an audience, they kiss and hug and play-act blowjobs for the cameras all the time and it's fine, who cares? But everybody in that room tonight saw Noel Fielding smack Julian Barratt on the bottom and _something_ , some massive wonderful terrible indescribable _thing_ , has lodged there deep in his brain like an inoperable tumour. Maybe it's the boots. Maybe it's the nana. Christ, that's sick.

"No," he says shortly, but Noel's shiteating grin just gets wider.

He gets a text later on when he's undressing for bed: come here. Just that. Two little lowercase words, black words on white like fireworks on screaming neon. He obeys because Noel's only going to sulk all day tomorrow and make everyone miserable if he feels like he's being ignored. And maybe a little bit because they know each other's minds like a bebop master knows his dissonant tritones. He knows what's coming.

So he creeps next door in his boxers and t-shirt, taps very quietly so the whole world doesn't come pouring out of their rooms to see what's going on, and Noel opens the door with that smile plastered back on his face. He's got his favourite kimono on, the one he let Vince wear when he was getting ready for the party, and those damn shiny boots.

"Alright?" he says, and Julian tries so hard to sound casual.

"Yeah. Can I help you with something?"

"Can I help _you_ with something?"

Deep breath and plunge in. "Are you asking me or telling me?" Then Noel laughs and takes his hand, pulls him gently into the room and slips the do not disturb hook over the door handle.

"I think I'm telling you."

They've played before a hundred million times, it feels, but never like this. Before it's been energy release or a cheer-up after a bad day or something to do when you're bored or just an outlet for this impossible ridiculous bursting love for a friend you can't imagine your life without. Noel sits on the edge of the bed, half-hard and ruining the drape of his kimono. Julian's hard too, or well on his way there, wetting a spot on the front of his boxers and holding his breath til his head roars while Noel draws him closer with a hand at each hip and starts stroking him through the fabric.

"I know you were thinking bad things right through the show," he says in a quiet little voice, looking at his hand and not Julian's face. "Do you need to be punished? I think you'd like to be punished."

Julian almost laughs but he's got no breath for it. "Christ, Noel-"

"No. No words. Just do as you're told, please."

He wonders if it's a joke and any minute now Noel's going to crack up laughing and call him a pervert and go back to how he normally is when there's a late-night hotel room visit, all bossy and demanding about getting something up his arse as quick and hard as possible. That'd be fine too. Better play along as well. Either way it's going to be interesting, right? So he just nods his head, watching for Noel's reaction and seeing the slow, curling smirk touch his lips.

"Over my knee, then." He pats his left thigh and Julian's stomach bursts into bubbling rolling fire. It's not very comfortable, he's bigger than Noel, but he rests his top half on the bed and spreads his weight and that makes it better. Noel's body is burning hot, sizzling through the gossamer-thin kimono. He slides his hand under the hem of Julian's t-shirt, stroking his back firmly to make him stop wriggling, then puts his fingers in the elastic top edge of his boxers and pulls them down to the top of his thighs, leaving him bare and ready. They're in full view of the mirror again and it's a bizarre picture, part hilarious and part incredible. There aren't any lights on, not even a lamp. The only illumination in the room comes from the outside lights coming through the window where Noel's not closed the curtains. The dimness sort of helps, it turns everything into a secret, all dark shadows and vague highlights.

Noel smacks him lightly, no harder than a pat on the back you get in a manly hug. It doesn't hurt but it sends a thrill zinging through his nervous system and tingling through all his extremities. He breathes out slowly, trying not to whine or whimper or do anything else Noel can laugh at him about when it's all done. Of course, he'll laugh anyway. It _is_ sort of funny.

"So, Barratt... just how bad _were_ your thoughts? How bad do you need to be punished?" He's not sure if it's a question needing an answer, but Noel smacks him again on the other cheek, harder, and he tightens his grip on the covers. "Tell me what you were thinking about."

"You," he says, and Noel laughs quietly.

"Yeah, mate, I did guess that much." Another two smacks, harder now, directed right on the part he's going to need to sit on tomorrow.

"Your boots. The mirror, last night. Making you..."

"Come?"

He always did have problems saying it. "Yeah," he manages vaguely. He keeps his breathing steady, even when Noel picks up his pace and starts spanking him properly, hard and relentless with just enough time between to appreciate the sting before a new one is laid on top of it. It still doesn't hurt that bad, not really. It's just so warm.

"Well, that's _very_ naughty," Noel murmurs as he keeps on smacking. "Maybe I'll just do this until I think you're sorry, shall I?"

"You're the boss."

"Yeah." The smile's crept into his voice now. "Don't you ever forget it."


End file.
